


Kun Has A Lizard Brain

by stillgold



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, a little ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 11:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14670576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillgold/pseuds/stillgold
Summary: The thing Kun enjoys most in the world—his favourite thing to do, really—is going to the library. He doesn’t get a lot of time off from work and Friday and Saturday nights are mostly for going out with friends, or dates, so he really only goes to the library once a week.And every time, it’s a Sunday.But one Sunday, when he walks in, holding the pile of books he might read, as he goes to his corner, he sees someone else already sitting there.





	Kun Has A Lizard Brain

**Author's Note:**

> hello! yes, yes, i still have another fic to complete, but i updated yesterday so i get a pass. also, i wrote this for a friend who was sad recently so i figured since it's already pretty finished, why not post? besides, i miss kunessi :)

The thing Kun enjoys most in the world—his favourite thing to do, really—is going to the library. He doesn’t get a lot of time to go and, honestly, he’s a bit embarrassed to admit he goes at all, but it’s his sanctuary. Nobody even _knows_ he likes to read; it’s just a strange thing to blurt over brunch and he’s now hidden it for so long that it’d be weird to mention it.

_Oh yeah I go once a week, I never told ya?_

He doesn’t get a lot of time off from work and Friday and Saturday nights are mostly for going out with friends, or dates, so he really only goes to the library once a week.

And every time, it’s a Sunday.

He wouldn’t admit this to his mom because she’d surely murder him, but it’s his version of church. He goes to his little nook in the library, reads for a few hours and feels renewed for the week. Sometimes, he works—he’s an architect and inspiration can hit anywhere so he always brings his materials along in case he gets the urge.

And because he loves his little routines, he always sits at the same exact spot. It’s a corner table, flanked by tall shelves of books. It’s so cut off from the rest of the library that it gives him a magical sense of privacy—although he isn’t _really_ alone. It faces the little lawn outside and the floor-to-ceiling windows add to the feeling of seclusion, paradoxically enough.

So, yes, even though everything is quiet in a library—in this spot, it’s _really_ quiet. And, when he needs a break, when he doesn’t want to read anymore, he can look outside and see the rain fall, or the snow storms, or just daydream.

It’s absolutely his _favourite_ part of the week.

But one Sunday, when he walks in, holding the pile of books he _might_ read, as he goes to his corner, he sees someone else already sitting there.

It would be ridiculous to say that he’s actually so disappointed he wants to cry, but he really _really_ does.

Nobody sits in his spot. _Nobody_.

He can only see the back of the guy’s head, his dark brown, almost-black hair shining in the sunlight streaming in from the windows. He can see that the guy’s head is bent—he’s absolutely absorbed in his work.

Well, fuck that.

Kun’s feet, which had faltered to a half-stop, start moving again and he makes his way over to the table because it’s big enough for at least four people and damned if he’s going to let some stranger take away his favourite part of the week.

He glances covertly at Mr. Seat Stealer and sees that he’s small, pale, and utterly _utterly_ gorgeous.

He’s not gorgeous in the conventional sense, but Kun has always liked interesting faces and this stranger certainly has that. When he glances up at Kun, his eyes are dark and that’s when Kun notices the beard: reddish-brown and utterly unlike the hair on his head.

Blinking, Kun wonders if he dyes his beard _or_ his hair.

Why not just dye both?

But, in all of this, Kun’s anger has suddenly melted. It’s _not_ because Mr. Seat Stealer is handsome—no, of _course_ not. And, although Kun doesn’t like talking to anyone during his time in the spot, he suddenly thinks that maybe he wouldn’t mind talking to this stranger.

Of course, _that’s_ when the stranger decides to smile at Kun—just a small polite smile of welcome, really.

Kun stares at the dimple that’s popped up in Mr. Seat Stealer’s face and thinks that, maybe, just maybe, there is a god.

(Maybe that church metaphor is even more apt now.)

He doesn’t smile back, of course, because his newfound attraction makes him surly and because he’s very much a giant idiot. Instead he scowls at the stranger and says rather bluntly, “I always sit here.”

Mr. Seat Stealer looks genuinely taken aback and then his brows come together a little. “Uh... are you asking me to leave?”

Kun’s lizard brain, which spends most of its time thinking about how fun jumping off buildings would be or other idiotic things like _sex! sex! sex! sex!_ in important meetings with his boss, has an immediate opinion about Mr. Seat Stealer’s question. In short, it can be summed up as:

_Noooooooooooooooooooooooo don’t leave meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee sexy mannnnnnnnnnnnnn_

But luckily for him, his lizard brain doesn’t have all the control. So instead, Kun just shrugs and plops down, opening his book and promptly ignoring the confused stranger.

Kun spends the next few hours pretending to read in front of the hot stranger, occasionally flipping pages, not taking a single word in, screamingly aware of every single thing the stranger does. He covertly observes that the stranger seems to be an artist. He’s sketching something and it looks like a woman’s face. Unlike Kun, he seems to have no lizard brain problems and he’s totally absorbed by his work and wholly unaware of Kun.

Of course, Kun’s judgmental about art because he’s not so bad himself. While publicly he declares that all art is beautiful, secretly he’s about the meanest person art connoisseur there is.

Like when his nieces and nephews insist on giving him drawings every time they come over to his house and, what’s worse, he’s then forced to display them on his fridge like he’s secretly proud of it.

He knows this is a terrible thing to think and that he’s a terrible person, but he can’t help it, okay? He’s an art snob.

He’s accepted this part of himself.

But Mr. Seat Stealer’s really _good_ from the glances Kun sneaks. (It takes a lot of effort and casual stretching to really get a good look. He’s never been so limber before—he could probably run a marathon with how stretched out he is right now.) He has an eye for light and shadow that Kun really appreciates.

Well, well, well.

Kun is secretly relieved. It’s so hard to have a boner for a bad artist, it really is.

He’s managed to in the past, but man it takes effort.

He continues to covertly watch the stranger, feeling vaguely winded for no reason every time Mr. Seat Stealer runs his fingers through his hair, or rubs the nape of his neck in thought. One time, he leans back, frowning, deep in thought, and runs a hand down his chest almost absent-mindedly.

Kun almost gasps out loud.

He’s cool, though, he’s cool. Lizard brain isn’t going to win _that_ easily.

So, by the end of the day, when the stranger finally leaves, smiling in an awkward goodbye to Kun, Kun is almost relieved. He’s sweaty and flushed now, feeling as if he actually _did_ run that stupid marathon.

Of course, he curses himself when he goes home, furious at himself for not saying anything to the cute stranger and bemoans his terrible social skills. It lasts most of the evening, but by the time he’s gone to bed and woken up on Monday, he’s mostly forgotten the cute guy.

Until he finds him there again on Sunday, in Kun’s spot.

Kun genuinely hadn’t been expecting him—he’d actually completely forgotten about Mr. Seat Stealer, assuming that it had been a one-time thing—but he’s not complaining. He takes a deep breath and then walks over, his heart thumping, and there are the dimples again.

Mr. Dimples—yes, a new name is needed—is looking up at Kun, smiling. Kun, of course, simply nods back because he’s still an idiot and he can’t seem to master the basics of social interaction.

They spend the whole Sunday in a similar fashion, Mr. Dimples sketching and Kun pretending to read. He’s a bit better this time and actually gets a couple paragraphs in his head, but he’s still completely and hopelessly distracted by the stranger.

There’s one interesting moment where Kun’s feet brush against Mr. Dimples’ own, and there is a mutual scrambling. Kun is too embarrassed to say anything more than a gruff apology, studiously avoiding eye contact and holding his book so tightly, he’s surprised it doesn’t rip apart in his hands.

This time, when Mr. Dimples finally gets up to go, he hesitates and then murmurs, “Have a good week.” He smiles tentatively at Kun. Then, he turns to leave.

Naturally, Kun takes five seconds too long to mumble a bye at his retreating back.

But the next Sunday, Kun has a plan. He comes early. He’s going to be prepared this time. He’s going to be nice and not surly. If Mr. Dimples shows up, that is. Maybe he won’t.

Kun doesn’t care. Of _course_ he doesn’t.

But when Mr. Dimples finally shows up, a tiny bit later than usual, Kun can’t help it. He smiles a big bright smile, his eyes crinkling. He can’t even stop himself.

Mr. Dimples seems genuinely taken aback, but rallies quickly, smiling back. “Hi,” he says, his voice soft and low, his expression friendly.

“Hi,” Kun says back, his heart thumping, fighting not to scowl or glare or be gruff or any of the other stupid things his face is likely to do. “I had a good week.”

“What?” Mr. Dimples says, looking confused.

“Oh,” Kun says. “You told me... to have a good week.” He clears his throat. “So I... I had one.”

He’s red and flushed now, and cursing himself. Why did he say that? Why can’t he pull off a single human interaction without acting like a gorilla?

But Mr. Dimples’ eyes are warm and a little amused. He leans across the table like he’s going to share a secret and Kun finds himself leaning too, slightly breathless. “I’m glad,” Mr. Dimples says after a pause, his eyes a little mischievous, his voice low.

And then he sends one last sly look at Kun and opens his sketchbook, leaving Kun an utter, complete delighted mess.

Kun reads even less than he did the last week, spending most of the time trying to work up the courage to say something to Mr. Dimples. He’s rehearsed the conversation in his head so many times, that when Mr. Dimples stands up to leave, a little earlier than usual, Kun is absurdly, completely deflated.

Mr. Dimples smiles at Kun and says, “See you next week?”

Kun smiles back, all his disappointment vanishing immediately. “Yes,” he says.

The next week, Kun wakes up a little and, by the time he gets to the library, almost panting after the mad rush to get there, he sees that Mr. Dimples has two coffee cups with him. Wondering, Kun makes his way over to sit, but before he can say anything, Mr. Dimples pushes one over. “I got you a latte,” he says slightly uncomfortably, clearing embarrassed. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Kun feels something warm settle over him. He takes the cup and says, “Thank you.” His mind is racing. “I love coffee,” he says, clearing his throat.

Mr. Dimples smiles politely, but says nothing as if waiting for Kun to go on.

Kun continues, “I love to drink coffee too. With company. Don’t you think coffee is something you should have with company? That’s what I think.” He pauses, trying to stop the babble. “Don’t you?”

Mr. Dimples’ smile has been progressively growing and now he’s grinning. He leans forward, his eyes amused. “What’s your name?”

Blinking, Kun says, “Sergio. But everyone calls me Kun.”

“I’m Leo. And, yes,” Mr. Dimples aka Leo says, his eyes mischievous. “I’d like to have coffee with you sometime.”

Kun is speechless but maybe not every thing needs an answer. Instead, he starts to laugh and then takes a sip of his coffee, thinking, Sunday really is his favourite day.


End file.
